CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
Jordan Sandor had been right about two things. First, his guess that the refinery in Baton Rouge had become the real target. Second, that it was too late to stop the truck from reaching its destination.
By the time the all-points bulletins had circulated through the three states and the law enforcement personnel and National Guardsmen could be mobilized, Adina’s men were already driving along Scenic Highway, circling the refinery on their way north.
As Hurricane Charlene hammered the Gulf Coast, there were just too many logistical issues and not enough manpower to blanket the entire southeastern United States with the level of surveillance Sandor wanted. Every available trooper, soldier, and police officer was already on duty trying to prevent another Katrina-like calamity. The plant at Baton Rouge had temporarily shut down operations — it had sustained so much damage in the hurricane season two years before, it had had to be closed and refitted over several months, and they had no interest in sustaining another similar loss.
Adding to the difficulty was the sheer impracticality of disclosing to the world at large that a truck with nuclear weapons was barreling through the storm somewhere in an area with a radius of up to a thousand miles. The panic that would result and the devastation the public reaction would cause might be worse than the explosion itself.
Given that risk, most of the law enforcement officers and soldiers involved were told nothing about a possible plutonium bomb; they were only warned of a potential terrorist strike.
Patrick Janssen’s counterpart at the Baton Rouge refinery was on high alert. Between the storm and the newly released warning of a terrorist threat, military units were moving into place at all the refineries in the region as quickly as the weather allowed.
Sandor worked the radio lines while Marty and Jake guided the Seahawk through lethal crosscurrents until they reached landfall over Louisiana. All manner of information was being fed from law enforcement personnel and military on the ground, filtering it through Captain Krause’s office at the naval air base in Corpus Christi and the temporary communications center in Baytown. Although nothing had turned up yet, every man in the field was being encouraged to relay even the most insignificant data they came across. Nothing should be considered inconsequential, they were told — the stakes were too high to overlook a single detail.
Their first break came on a call that was routed through Bay-town.
“I know this isn’t much,” Janssen told Sandor over the satellite hookup, “but the police have been rousting every truck stop from Little Rock to Miami. You talk about terrorists to these truck drivers and that’s a hot button, as you can imagine.”
“I got it,” Sandor replied. “So what’s the news?”
“Found a guy in Opelousas who had a strange observation.”
“I’m all ears.”
“There’s a big diner and rest area right off Interstate Ten. This driver noticed a tractor-trailer show up, didn’t stay but a few minutes, then took off again. Says he only noticed it because they pulled up right beside him and nobody ever got out.”
“When you say it isn’t much, you’re not kidding,” Sandor replied.
“Hang on, there’s more. When the truck left, it didn’t get back on the interstate. He said it made a turnoff to the side road. This trucker calls it one of those roads to nowhere.” As Sandor thought it over, Janssen continued. “In this storm, why come to a rest area, immediately leave, but not get back on the highway?”
“When?”
“This morning. A couple of hours ago.”
“Did he describe the truck?”
“Freightliner cab, sixteen-wheel rig, trailer plain white, didn’t catch any logos, but get this — when we gave a description of what we’re looking for, he said he noticed the trailer had some unusual-looking doors on the side.”
“And how far is Opelousas from Baton Rouge?”
“How about, down the road a piece?”
“You hear that, Marty?”
The Marine nodded. “Copy that.”
“Okay,” Sandor said, “it’s a long shot but you never know. Let’s get word to everyone in that area, scope out every road that could lead from Opelousas to Baton Rouge. In fact, every road from Opelousas to anywhere.”
“Already done.”
“Good. Order them to identify but not to engage. If there’s any chance we can take them down before they ignite those nukes, it’s worth a try.”
Banahan was on the line. “Got it, Jordan.”
“Good. I’m getting on the horn with Washington; we’ll get the Air Force and the Air National Guard on this right now.”
Sandor cut them off, made the connection through Langley, and gave his latest report to Byrnes. Meanwhile, Martindale was approaching Baton Rouge from the southwest. The helicopter was still being tossed about and fuel was becoming an issue, but now they had no choice except to stay in the air and try to find the truck.
As Sandor finished with the Deputy Director, he was peering out the windows, but there was still nothing to see but rain and dark clouds. “Marty, if you were coming at this refinery in a truck, would you try to make a direct hit?”
“Hell no, couldn’t get close enough, not with a low-yield nuke. And they’ve gotta assume we’re on watch for them by now.”
“Agreed. So the questions are, how would you go at it and what’s in that truck besides the weapons?”
Jake said, “Sir, the Baton Rouge refinery is right along the bank of the Mississippi River.”
Sandor nodded. “And water seems to be their preferred medium of attack.”
“Any kind of airborne assault is too likely to get shot down.”
“I’m with you on that too,” Sandor said. “And the Mississippi, last time I looked, runs south, that right?”
They both agreed.
“Which means, if we’re going to find this damned needle in a rainstorm, we’ve got to get north of the refinery.”
“Aye aye,” Martindale said, then increased his speed.
“But we’ve got to run low enough to see the damn thing.”
The Seahawk took the turn smoothly, even in the gale winds, and Martindale banked the craft in an arc that led them west so he could circle back around from north to south along the sweeping curves of America’s largest river.
Sandor radioed back to Janssen and Banahan.
“It’s only an educated guess,” he told them after he explained the approach they were taking along the Mississippi, “but we’re on our way now. Call and have some of the men positioned for an attack from that direction.”
Banahan assured him he would take care of it.
“How’s my Korean girlfriend?”
“Safe and sound.”
“No flights north today.”
“That’s right. Ronny Young is babysitting her as we speak.”
Sandor nodded to himself, wondering, if these nukes went off, whether he would have done Hea a favor after all, putting her in harm’s way. “Keep pushing for information,” Sandor said, then signed off and contacted Captain Krause.
The two drivers who were ferrying Luis and Francisco and their deadly cargo to their destination had already made the turnoff from Samuels Road and were heading west to the area above the eastern bank of the Mississippi.
They had been spotted by a state trooper when they passed Port Hudson, but the officer had not yet received the APB, so he didn’t think much of it — other than the fact that it was an odd place to take a large rig in this storm. Now that he had the alert, he called it in.
Sandor was making another vain attempt to see something on the ground when Banahan relayed the report, immediately patching in the trooper to provide details.
“There are a whole lotta places a trucker can pull off the road in a hurricane like this,” the officer told them, “but headin’ down to the river, you’ve gotta have shit for brains to be anywhere near the water today.”